


a different kind of home

by ignitesthestars



Category: Mass Effect: Andromeda
Genre: Breakfast in Bed, Domestic, F/M, Fluff, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-11
Updated: 2017-06-11
Packaged: 2018-11-13 00:01:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11172765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ignitesthestars/pseuds/ignitesthestars
Summary: Sara doesn’t even glance at the clock as she blinks herself awake. It’s delicious. The room is wrapped in silence, broken only by the low and steady breathing of Liam in bed next to her. She rolls onto her side with all the grace of a hippopotamus, tapping a soft finger against his temple.





	a different kind of home

The thing is, Sara has never been much of a morning person.

Bad form for a leader, she knows, but that’s why the gods of science gave them alarm clocks. And when those fail to work after hitting snooze three times, SAM.

But today - _today_ \- they’re all taking some well-deserved leave. Nothing world-ending is blinking on her to-do list, no desperate emails have come through in the middle of the night, and they’re floating in the sweet nothingness of space before hitting Kadara Port in the next couple of days for some unofficial resupplying. 

She doesn’t even glance at the clock as she blinks herself awake. It’s delicious. The room is wrapped in silence, broken only by the low and steady breathing of Liam in bed next to her. Sara rolls onto her side with all the grace of a hippopotamus, tapping a soft finger against his temple.

He doesn’t stir. Sure, he’ll leap out of bed with no pants on if danger pings in his subconscious, but he sleeps like the dead when he thinks they’re safe. She smiles to herself, painting a line down his cheek, tracing the curve of his jaw. Her thumb brushes over his lips, and she leans in for a breath of a kiss before her stomach grumbles and the word _breakfast_ swims lazily through her brain.

Breakfast seems good. Breakfast in bed seems better, and breakfast in bed with the beautiful man sleeping in hers right now seems like just what the doctor ordered (although she’s definitely not going to Lexi for a second opinion). Liam hasn’t moved, oblivious to her exploration of her face, so she eases herself out from the covers, hissing as her feet his the cool metal of the floor.

“All this state of the art technology, and they forgot about carpet,” she mutters, grabbing the nearest item of clothing and tugging it over her head. Further rummaging wins her a pair of exercise shorts, and she steps into them as she trips towards her doors, glancing over to make sure her heffalumping hasn’t woken Liam up.

So far, so good. And if the ship designers had neglected carpeting, they’d earned two thumbs up for putting the galley right next to her quarters. Yawning, she pads over to the fridge, cool air washing over her as she gazes into the depths.

“Eggs,” she mutters, lurching in. It’s a sign of how well the outposts are doing, that they have actual produce to work with these days. Pathfinder perks meant real food in the fridge and cupboards, something she’d felt guilty about for approximately half a second, until she’d seen the looks on her crew’s faces. 

It’s a lot easier to do nice things for other people, she muses, heating the little stove and cracking the eggs into a pan. She’s mostly certain the ship won’t explode from a little cooking. Kallo probably wouldn’t have let the stove exist on board if he thought it was going to damage his baby.

The doors hiss open, and Sara has been living in close quarters with a bunch of aliens for long enough now that it doesn’t phase her. She doesn’t even glance over her shoulder, humming to herself as she prods her eggs with a spatula, leaning over to snag two slices of bread and drops them into a toaster. She’s not the _greatest_ cook in the galaxy, but eggs on toast - it’s not exactly rocket science.

A pair of hands settles at her waist; she bites back a shriek in the second between surprise and recognition, and the small part of her brain that’s actually fully awake wonders at the fact that she can recognise Liam from his _hands_ these days. The spatula clatters into the pan, smearing the yolk as the heat of his body steps into hers, warm and solid and delightful against her back.

“You ruined breakfast,” she complains, rescuing the spatula. 

Liam chuckles softly, pressing his nose into the crook of her neck. It’s cold against her skin, but that’s not what prompts the shiver that drips down her spine. She tilts her head to one side with a sigh and he takes the invitation, pressing soft butterfly kisses up the line of her throat.

“I’m pretty sure I can live with messy eggs if you can,” he rumbles.

“I don’t know. This might be the final straw. I could be totally done with you right now. Because of the eggs.”

“Uh huh. Do I get to know what the other straws were?” His hands tighten a little over her hips, teasing.

“Nope. I’m going to let you wonder.” The toast pops. “Get me some plates.

And he does, because Liam might like having his hands on her, but he’s always eager to help. The plates clack onto the bench, and she gestures at him to butter the toast (which he somehow understands perfectly) before transferring the eggs over. The fridge offers up a carton of orange juice, and she snags two glasses, nudging his butt with her knee. “Grab the plates.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

They crawl back under the covers, carefully balancing plates and cutlery, knees knocking against each other as they finally get settled. Sara’s elbow brushes over bare skin, and with the distraction of cooking and Liam reduced by one, she realises that he - well, he’s not wearing a shirt.

The distraction rachets right back up again. She maybe pauses with her fork halfway to her mouth, wondering idly how hungry she _really_ is.

“Do you usually wander around the ship half naked?” she says out loud. “Like, is this a thing? Because I’m not complaining, but Lexi’d probably have something to say about this compulsion of yours.”

He snorts. “Lexi’d probably have something to say about you stealing my clothes, too.”

“I don’t steal your--” Except. _Except_. Now that he’s drawn her attention to it, the shirt she’d dragged on earlier is a little (a lot) looser than hers typically are. It smells nicer, too. It smells like him. “Oh.”

“Yeah, oh.” His grin is the loveliest thing she thinks she’s ever seen. “Why’d you think I couldn’t keep my hands off you?”

“I was kind of hoping it was my insatiable allure.”

“That too.” He finishes his mouthful, leans over. Kisses the corner of her mouth in a way that’s somehow sweet and desperately sexy at the same time. Sara is definitely starting to reconsider breakfast. “But the shirt looks good on you, babe. Knowing it’s mine just makes it better.”

“Hmm.” She forks a bit of toast into her mouth, chewing thoughtfully. “Maybe we should see if you in my shirt has the same effect.”

His laughter bounces around the room, warming it. “Hey, I’ll try anything once.”


End file.
